


Love in the Time of Crosswalks

by rea_of_sunshine



Series: Reddie, Set, Soulmates! [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Clumsy Richie Tozier, Figure Skater Eddie, Fluff, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22030984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rea_of_sunshine/pseuds/rea_of_sunshine
Summary: Richie Tozier's soulmark said,You asshole! Do you know how long I've been afraid of crosswalks?!Understandably, he didn't expect to find his soulmate on an ice rink, but hey, we've all been wrong before.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Reddie, Set, Soulmates! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587550
Comments: 42
Kudos: 680





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There was a guy at the rink today carving up the ice with big Eddie vibes, and this happened. I'm a slut for the soulmate trope. Sue me. 
> 
> Also, I couldn't decide if I wanted this from Richie's POV or Eddie's, so here's both.

Richie looked like a giraffe out on the ice. He knew that. And not like a sexy giraffe, just a clumsy one whose feet kept inching further and further apart, no matter how much he scrambled forward. 

His foot slipped to the side, and he went down, panic-flailing and dragging Beverly with him.

“Ow! Fucking Richie,” she shouted, her tailbone connecting hard with the ice. Ben, her soulmate, was across the rink in a second. 

“You alright?” he asked, leaning down and lifting her back to her feet gently. 

“How are you guys so good at this?” Richie grumbled, trying—and failing—to get the blades of death back under him. He crashed to the ice once more, elbows slamming hard, before Ben took pity on him and helped him up. 

“Well, for one, your skates aren’t tight enough. See how your ankles wobble?” Ben said, looping an arm around Beverly’s waist and pointing at Richie’s feet. He’d done the best he could with what he'd had, and what he'd had was forty-year-old rentals with half the shoelace broken off. 

“If I tie them any tighter, my feet are gonna have to be amputated,” he grumbled. His ankle decided that was the best instant to roll again, and he wind-milled forward to try and regain his balance. 

“It’s amputate or ankle-break, Trashmouth,” Stan threw over his shoulder as he raced past the trio. Bill, Stan’s soulmate, was tight on his heels, clinging to the back of Stan's shirt, laughing gleefully as Stan hauled him along. Richie recognized the look as the one Bill got tearing Silver down hilly roads. The look Stan wore, his eyes sliding soft and fond back to Bill, was one unfamiliar to Richie. 

Well, he saw it anytime Stan looked at Bill, but Richie himself had never gotten that look. 

He tried not to think about it too much as he scrambled over to the hip-high wall and held on for dear life. Ben and Bev skated off, Bev dusting ice off the seat of her jeans, and Ben smiling down at her. 

Mike skidded to a stop beside Richie. It wasn’t unusual for them to be paired up, since they were the only ones out of their friend group who hadn’t found their soulmates yet. Richie didn’t mind. Mike was cool…but he wasn’t Richie’s soulmate. There had been a time when Richie had wondered, seeing the way Mike’s brown eyes lit up when he laughed, but Richie had had the words settled across his sternum in his soulmate’s hurried, slanted writing memorized since he was old enough to read. 

_You asshole! Do you know how long I’ve been afraid of crosswalks?!_

The first thing Mike had said to him was decidedly _not_ that, so the crush Richie had held for him melted away and left nothing but the same platonic love that Richie held for all five of his best friends. 

But Richie was like a hawk in crosswalks, paying special attention for anyone who looked particularly terrified as they made their way from one side of the street to the other. 

“How are you holding up?” Mike asked, watching concernedly as Richie scuttled his way along the wall. 

“Not—oof!” Richie over-corrected, his knee crashing down, even as he clung to the wall. He really should have worn knee pads. “Not well.” 

“Your skates are too loose,” Mike said, pointing, exactly the way Ben had done. Richie rolled his eyes. “Come on,” Mike said before Richie could bite back a smart response. “I’ll help you. It’s easier if someone laces them for you.” 

“Aw, Mikey,” Richie crooned, bringing his hands up and lacing them together by his chin. He batted his eyes at Mike, and immediately lost his balance. “Whoa! Whoa!” Richie yelped, flailing again before finally latching back onto the wall. Mike snorted.

“Alright, alright. Come on.” 

Mike helped Richie creep his way to the rink exit, and Richie was proud to say he’d only flailed for his balance four times. (Five, if you count the time the most beautiful boy Richie had ever seen whizzed past him, a streak of brown hair and red sweater and honest-to-God leg warmers, but Richie didn’t count it. That hadn’t been his fault.)

Richie collapsed into a metal folding chair once they were on non-slick ground. 

“How’d I let you guys talk me into this?” he grumbled, leaning down and untying the knot of his skates. Mike knelt in front of him and started tugging at Richie’s laces. 

“The soulmates wanted a cute date,” Mike said with a sigh and a yank. Richie struggled to keep his foot planted so he wouldn’t accidentally castrate Mike. 

“Okay, but how’d _we_ get roped into it? We haven’t even met our soulmates yet.” Mike gave another hard yank. 

“Err, about that,” Mike said, yanking one last time and beginning a new knot. He glanced up at Richie with a dopey smile, and Richie’s stomach sank. He _knew_ that look. That was a Stan-at-Bill look, a Bev-at-Ben look. 

“You met them?” Richie asked, fighting to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He was happy for Mike. Totally and completely happy. Mike had found his forever person, but yeah, Richie was a little jealous, too. And not at all because of the baby crush he’d had, but for the simple fact that now, he wouldn’t be a platonic sixth wheel with Mike. Now, he’d be a completely alone and unnecessary seventh wheel for all his friends and their soulmates. 

“Yeah,” Mike said, finishing the knot and grinning. Richie smiled and, looking at how happy Mike was, found it actually very easy to feel genuine. 

“That’s incredible, Mikey,” Richie said, reaching out and shaking Mike’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Mike shrugged. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t want you to feel…you know. Left out, I guess.” Mike shrugged again and started on Richie’s other shoe. 

“No, man. I’m so happy for you. Tell me about them. How’d it happen?” Mike got that sort of doughy look in his eye again and yanked. 

“Her name’s Jessica. She was working behind the counter at one of my delivery places. Can you believe she spent her whole life with, _I’ve got your meat right here,_ on her chest? She said she thought I would be some asshole on the street cat-calling her.” Mike laughed, and again, Richie’s smile grew a touch more genuine. 

Mike gave another good tug, then patted Richie’s ankle.

“Good?” Richie asked, and Mike stood up to admire his work, hardly wobbling at all. 

“Stand up and see. You might need to go down a size.” 

Richie stood up and did as he was told. He felt relatively more secure, but his shoe still slid when he picked his foot up. He made the executive decision not to mention it. 

“Perfect. Thanks, man. And really, I’m so happy for you.” 

Mike smiled and helped Richie back towards the ice. Richie took a deep, preparatory breath before stepping back out onto it. He only wobbled a little bit, and Mike grinned at him in victory. 

“Race you,” Mike said, then took off, spraying ice with every side push, leaving Richie clinging to the wall but admittedly, not falling. He gave an experimental kick and slid forward, exactly the way he was supposed to. 

“Hah!” Richie laughed in surprise. He watched his feet carefully, center clenched as tight as he could to hold his balance. He gave another kick and found himself actually sort of getting the hang of it. 

“Hey, look at you go, Rich!” Bev said, grinning as she slowed to skate beside him. He was still all but hugging the wall, but he was holding his balance. 

“It’s all in the ankles,” he told her. He pushed away from the wall, like the drama queen he was, and wobbled. She caught his wrist and grinned. 

“No kidding,” she said dryly. Richie rolled his eyes. 

“Where’s your soulmate?” he asked, doing his best to skate along beside her. He was shaky, but he was off the wall. Bev pointed through the semi-crowded rink to the other side, where Ben, Bill, Stan, and Mike had started some sort of train thing. 

“Ten bucks says Stan wipes out,” she said. Richie snorted. 

“I’m not introducing that karma into the world. I _just_ managed getting off the wall.” 

“You barely managed to not bust your ass _on_ the wall,” she said with a roll of her eyes. Richie huffed. He would have pulled away from her steadying hand on his arm, but well…she was right. He felt like he was about two slides away from wiping out so hard he tasted blood. Not that they were particularly going fast enough for that, but the fear was there. “Go ask that guy for help,” Bev said, elbowing him gently and pointing. 

There, in the center of the rink, stood the beautiful boy who’d whizzed past him before. He had his arms out, his feet turned straight out under his elbows, looping gracefully. Richie’s eyes widened. 

The boy’s back foot turned suddenly, and Richie felt sure he was going to wipe out. He went down, but he wasn’t crashing. He was arching back, his whole body shifting in perfect precision from pointed toe, to loose shoulders, to languid arms. When he came back up, his leg warmer had shaves of ice on it, but the boy was steady. He broke into a quick hop, never wavering, then suddenly, he was gliding backwards, arms held taught as he picked up speed, maneuvering effortlessly through the children scrambling around him. Once he was in a clear patch of ice, he kicked his toe down and went spinning through the air, arms crossed tight across him. 

“Holy shit,” Richie murmured, making no effort at all to hide his awe. 

Then, his own toe-pick caught, and he went down, palms skidding, and even still, he hardly tore his eyes away from the boy. 

He was like…fuck, Richie didn’t know what he was like. A river? Something else that made Richie’s heart absolutely ache? All he could do was sit there on his knees, on the ice, Bev tugging at him while skaters blew past, staring. 

The boy landed the jump easily, slipping his way down the ice backward before he leapt around, easily shifting forward onto one foot and lifting his other straight back behind him, like he was flying. 

“Rich,” Bev groaned, still tugging at him, and Richie shook himself, finally tearing his eyes away. 

“Sorry.” He stole one last glance as Bev helped him up. “Christ, he’s gorgeous,” Richie murmured, pushing his glasses back into place. 

“Go talk to him,” Bev encouraged, leading Richie back to the wall. He held on, gratefully, but turned his back to it, eyes sliding back to the boy. 

“Are you kidding? He looks like a gazelle out there! I look like a giraffe.” Bev snorted.

“I mean, okay. Yeah. But you’re a cute giraffe. Talk to him.” 

“Bev, I can’t even make it over there _to_ talk to him,” Richie said, frowning, again clutching the wall. 

“Look, just push side to side.” Bev skated a bit away, emphasizing each push to the side. Richie tentatively slid away from the wall and tried to mimic her. Once he got going, he actually felt pretty good. He was moving fast, actually keeping up with her, push for push, taking the turns intuitively as they went around. 

A loud chorus of shouts across the rink drew Richie’s attention, and he glanced over to see the conga line of his friends all collapsed on the ground, shoving one another as they tried to get back to their feet. 

Richie was veering across the ice before he could think twice about it, gaining speed with every push of his heel. 

It happened quickly. 

The beautiful boy in the red sweater and honest-to-God leg warmers slid out in front of him, leading by his fingertips, eyes blissfully closed, and Richie flailed. 

Bev had taught him how to go. She hadn’t taught him how to stop. He jerked backward, his feet slid forward in the too-big skates, and he had a single breath to shout, “Look out! I don’t have brakes!” 

Then, the boy’s eyes were snapping open, locking on Richie in horror before they were slamming together with a massive thud, knees colliding, elbows cracking against the ground, a tangle of limbs as they fell onto the ice. 

Once the momentum gave out, they sat, staring at one another, open-mouthed. Richie had his arm wedged painfully under the boy. The boy had his knee directly in Richie’s gut, the hard plate of his sternum dented around Richie’s chin, and wide, brown eyes boring into Richie’s. The horror crept in slowly. 

Richie had all but tackled the cutest boy he’d ever seen. 

Then, all at once, the boy’s precious little shocked face turned into righteous anger. 

“You asshole!” he yelled, shoving Richie off him and leaping to his feet. “Do you know how long I’ve been afraid of crosswalks?!” 

Richie’s heart slammed. He stared up at the boy, mouth agape. 

He’d said it. The cutest boy Richie had ever seen in his goddamn life had said _it_. 

Richie’s hand flew to his chest, touching the spot where the tattoo rested. 

“You said it,” Richie murmured. The boy’s eyebrows tugged together, and he flung a wild hand towards Richie. 

“You said it first!” he shouted. Richie was vaguely aware that he was still sprawled out on the ice of a very public skating rink with an ache in his entire body. He didn’t care one ounce. 

“I didn’t mean to say it first!” Richie shouted back, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Then, he grinned. “But I’m glad I did.” 

The angry set to the boy’s mouth—his _soulmate’s_ mouth, Richie thought with wonder—quivered, like he was biting back a smile. His soulmate huffed.

“Come on,” he said, offering a hand out to Richie. Richie was suddenly very glad he’d forgone gloves. His fingers brushed over his _soulmate’s_ fingers, and the world was alive. Something big and beautiful thrummed in his chest. 

“I’m Richie,” he said, not really pulling himself up, just holding his soulmate’s hand. 

“Eddie.” 

“Eddie,” Richie repeated dreamily. Eddie—Richie’s _soulmate_ —rolled his eyes, but his lips quivered again. Richie felt warm all over. He very much liked the look Eddie was giving him, much more than the Stan-at-Bill, Bev-at-Ben, Mike-at-Jessica looks. This was Eddie-at-Richie. It was perfect.


	2. Chapter 2

Eddie liked ice skating. He was good at it, even managing to make the figure skating team before he was fourteen. 

He didn’t skate competitively, now that college had its talons around him, but he liked going to the rink, even just to stretch out and focus on something other than his mother’s constant over-bearings. 

He felt sure the chicken-scratched words across his sternum didn’t help. 

_Look out! I don’t have brakes!_

He knew for a fact his soulmark was the reason he had never been allowed to ride bikes with the other kids in his neighborhood, and she _still_ insisted on holding his hand whenever they were in a parking lot together. 

And yeah, Eddie guessed it was a reasonable fear. Someone—his soulmate—would say that to him. They probably wouldn’t be lying about not having brakes. He found himself a touch more cautious than his peers when crossing the road, and he never let himself be caught dead on the ice when the Zamboni came around for that very reason. 

But there were no Zambonis now, Eddie saw, smiling as he situated his foot in his skates, tugging tightly on the laces. There was just a light crowd, each sticking to the outer edges of the ring the way that most recreational skaters tended to. There were, of course, wobbling children who clung to the walls, but for the most part, Eddie didn’t see anyone he’d have to keep a particular eye out for so as not to disembowel them or some shit with a poorly-timed spin. 

Eddie heard a shuffle and thud from beyond the wall he was lacing up on and glanced up. 

“Ow! Fucking Richie,” he heard, a girl, sounding irritated but fond. Eddie smiled. He liked to think maybe they were soulmates. He _loved_ the idea of soulmates, of having someone made exactly for him. 

Of course, he’d give his soulmate hell for his soulmark, once he found them, but you know. Then, they’d be smooth sailing. 

After he was secure in his skates, he stood, eyes lingering at the sight of the commotion. There was a boy, a shock of dark, curly hair, lanky, sprawled out on the ice with his back to Eddie. The only girl nearby had her arm looped around the waist of another man, looking down on the curly-haired boy with a grin. 

Not soulmates then. 

All the better, Eddie thought, once the boy had been pulled to his feet. He caught a glimpse of the boy’s profile, thick-lensed glasses, pouty lips, holy hell, freckles. Eddie’s heart skittered. Then, it took a dive towards affection as the boy slipped around on his skates. 

He was popular, too, it seemed. People skating past and calling to him, skidding to a halt in front of him, just to check in. 

Eddie shook his head. There was no point in getting his hopes up about some cute boy he’d probably never get the nerve to talk to. He just made his way towards the ice and stepped on, pushing off and letting his body acclimate to the speed and thrill of being on the ice. If he happened to skate a little faster and more gracefully than necessary past the cute boy, well…

Eddie made his way to the center of the rink, where there was less traffic and more room for maneuvering. He started easy, lulling his stiff muscles back into the sport with a few simple shifts. As he rounded the corner on one foot, he saw the curly-haired boy enter the rink again, looking more secure but still like he’d never walked a day in his life. Eddie smiled to himself and kicked a foot up, leaning forward and lifting his chest. 

The boy across the rink was holding onto the wall like his life depended on it, but he shuffled forward nonetheless. Then, a grin so brilliant burst across the boy’s face that it made Eddie wobble in his spiral. His leg thumped down towards the ice, and he huffed. 

He could fight dirty, if the boy’s gummy grin wanted to fight dirty. Eddie put on the speed, dug his toe in, and leapt, twisting his hips so that he landed on the opposite foot than he started.

He would put on such a show that the boy _had_ to look over, Eddie’s nerve to speak or lack thereof be damned. 

He focused on keeping his shoulders loose, movements liquid, as he spun and leapt and glided across the ice. He had his eyes open, watching for stray children and making sure the four-man conga line that had started stayed clear of him, but mostly, he was thinking, _take that, pretty boy_ , as he slid effortlessly around. 

Not to mention, Eddie loved figure skating. He felt confident on the ice in a way he rarely did walking down the street. On the ice, it didn’t matter that he was short or that he had a mouth that got him in trouble. 

He closed his eyes for a second, really, just a second, to enjoy the glide of his skates. Then, he heard it. 

“Look out! I don’t have brakes!” 

Eddie’s eyes flew open, his entire body going rigid, just in time to see the curly-headed klutz careening towards him. He gasped, then grunted as they made contact, his knee coming up to curl into the boy’s stomach, the boy’s arm cushioning his shoulders, his chin snapping against Eddie’s sternum, right over the words. 

The same words that he’d just shouted at Eddie. 

Eddie stared at him, his mouth open, and the boy stared back, looking just as shellshocked with a pink tinge bursting out under his freckles. Eddie wasn’t hurt, but his heart was pounding. 

Then, he realized. The boy had said Eddie’s soulmark, and it wasn’t in a parking lot, and he wasn’t on a bike, and there was no Zamboni scheduled for another half hour. It was on the ice, his favorite place in the world. 

A scowl tore through Eddie, and he shoved the boy away, scrambling up off the ice. 

“You asshole!” Eddie shouted before he could think better of it. “Do you know how long I’ve been afraid of crosswalks?!” 

The boy just stared up at Eddie. He had ice all over the front of him, a red mark on his chin, a horrible crook to his glasses, and for one terrifying second, Eddie wondered if that _wasn’t_ what he was supposed to say. Like he’d messed it all up. Like his soulmate wasn’t this beautiful, goofy, gawky boy that Eddie wanted so much for it to be. Eddie felt heat rise up and an ache so large he thought it might swallow him. 

Then, the boy raised a hand to his chest, right over where the soulmark was. 

“You said it,” he murmured, sounding so soft and reverent that Eddie thought his knees might give in relief. 

Relief or not, though, he’d worked himself up to a panic. He knew whatever came out of his mouth would come out as a shout, and his eyebrows pulled together in preparation.

“You said it first!” he said. But yeah, it was a shout. His fingers itched to touch him, straighten those glasses, touch those freckles. He settled for waving a shaky hand in his direction. 

“I didn’t mean to say it first!” the boy shouted back, his eyes wide as he matched Eddie’s energy. His fingers straightened the glasses, but not well. Eddie’s fingers still itched. Then, the grin was back, the gummy grin that had thrown his spiral, now shining full-force onto Eddie. “But I’m glad I did.” 

Eddie’s lip twitched. 

He was happy. He didn’t even know his soulmate’s name, and already, he was so, so happy that it was him. 

“Come on,” he said, offering his hand. His soulmate took it and made no move to pull himself up. Eddie didn’t mind. He thought he could hold this boy’s hand forever. He nearly smiled again at the thought that he _would_ hold this boy’s hand forever.

“I’m Richie,” he said, squeezing Eddie’s fingers. 

“Eddie,” he answered. 

“Eddie,” Richie echoed, looking for all the world exactly the moony, gooey way Eddie felt. Eddie rolled his eyes and pulled Richie to his feet. 

Richie was massive, Eddie realized once he got him upright. Well, a full head taller, at least, but built like a set of monkey bars. Eddie thought he might cry from how absolutely perfect his soulmate was. 

“Oh my God, Eddie,” Richie crooned, his hand slipping from Eddie’s to pat the top of Eddie’s head. He slapped Richie’s hand away, heat filling his cheeks. 

“Shut up,” he grumbled, an attempt to cover how pleased he felt at the attention Richie was giving him. “You’re like a fucking giraffe.” 

“Hey, a-a-are you guys okay?” someone asked, skating up beside Eddie and sending Richie jumping out of his skin and subsequently regressing him into fighting to stay upright. 

Eddie’s hands shot out like a flash to catch him, and suddenly, Richie was steady. 

“A clumsy giraffe,” Eddie said, raising an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. Richie blinked.

“You really are my soulmate, Eds,” he said, his eyes wide. Eddie didn’t know why his giraffe comparison confirmed what they both already knew, but he was glad it did. His grip tightened around Richie. 

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie said, glaring up at Richie. Richie just grinned down and slung an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, and if Eddie turned his face into Richie’s chest a little, so what? Richie was his soulmate, after all. 

“Wait, did I just hear suh-suh-soulmate?” the newcomer asked, his eyes swinging between Richie, still clinging to Eddie for dear life, and Eddie, still holding him just as tightly. Four more people skidded up behind the first, the boy Eddie had seen with Richie as Eddie had made his way back onto the ice, the red-headed girl who had been smiling at Richie earlier, the boy who’d had his arm around her, and the one who’d called over his shoulder to Richie, looking a little worse for wear and covered in ice shavings. 

“Soulmate?” at least two of them echoed. Eddie wasn’t sure which of them had said it. He was trying not to feel how warm Richie’s gaze made him. 

“He said the thing,” Richie told them, still staring at Eddie. 

“The being afraid of crosswalks thing?” the red-head asked, tilting her head in confusion. Eddie huffed.

“He said he didn’t have brakes. I always thought it was going to be some idiot on a homemade motor-cycle.” 

“Well, you were right about the idiot part,” said the one with ice shavings all over him, cutting a dry look at Richie. Richie just grinned. 

“You’re just mad that you wiped out in the conga line, Stanley,” Richie said to him. Stanley rolled his eyes.

“Don’t act like you haven’t been falling since the minute you stepped out on the ice, Richie. I saw you,” Eddie said, pinching the soft spot above Richie’s hip. Richie yelped, and his friends laughed, and Eddie felt warm again. He’d never really had friends, but with Richie snug against his side and the five newcomers surrounding them, Eddie felt pretty solid in his prospects. 

“Only falling for you, babe,” Richie said, winking. Eddie groaned, but he didn’t pull away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed:)


End file.
